


The Coolest Boy Ever Has The Coldest Heart

by HaterJo



Series: Songfics Series [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anal Sex, Blood, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, But only a little, Creeper Peter, Daddy Kink, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Dirty Talk, Feminization, Insanity, Just read, M/M, Murder, Redemption, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Smut, Therapy, Top Peter, Trials, but also not really, fight me, idk how to explain it, its still a bit fucked up, kind of, kind of descriptive, or at least when he was alive, please, these aren't even tags tbh, tom and andrew stilinksi dont exist in my world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 22:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15543213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaterJo/pseuds/HaterJo
Summary: Stiles stood up, “No. Yo-you did this. You’re psychotic.” He began to pace, walking on the wooden floor where the blood hadn’t reached quite yet. He stopped suddenly, face going red, his fists clenched at his sides, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” Peter stood up from his crouch, walking to Stiles. He led the younger man’s head to his neck as he continued to spout his hatred. That was what Peter loved about him. He was so passionate. Even about the things he didn’t mean.ORBased on the songs, "The Coldest Heart"by To Be Juliet's Secret, and "The Coolest Girl Ever" by JJ Demon





	The Coolest Boy Ever Has The Coldest Heart

“How was I supposed to know that you were on your way and so close to home?” Peter asked, chest heaving. Stiles had just caught him disposing of the knife, and the bloody glove. “I had to show you that you are mine. You made me do this.” 

 

Stiles had been the reason the other man was dead. If Stiles hadn’t gone out that night. If Stiles hadn’t gone home with that man.  _ If Stiles hadn’t done anything that he had done, the other man would be alive.  _

 

It’s not Peter’s fault he snapped. After the first time Stiles had cheated, Peter had warned him he would kill the other man if it happened again. Stiles knew, therefore Peter followed through. 

 

Stiles mouth dropped open, “You can’t turn this back around on me! What if you get caught? Did you even think about the repercussions?” 

 

Peter shrugged, flinging the now wet glove into the trash beside him, “When I left, the entire house was nothing but embers burning on the ground. You knew perfectly well what I was going to do when you were sucking his cock, don’t act all innocent now.” Peter snapped, setting the now blood free knife onto the towel beside the sink. He smirked as he turned around, “Wanna know all the gory details?” He murmured. 

 

Stiles face showed his hesitance, before he slowly nodded. 

 

Peter was fine with his lover’s hesitance, when he had met the boy he could see the potential. The potential to be something  _ beautiful.  _ Peter just had to help the younger boy along, but he would get there. 

 

  * . •. •. 



 

Stiles was crying in the corner. Fat tears sliding down his pale cheeks. He wasn’t sobbing, no, just small tears. If Peter didn’t know better, he would say Stiles was scared of him. Stiles wasn’t scared of Peter, he was scared of  _ himself.  _ Of how much he was enjoying this. Enjoying watching his boyfriend brutally murder someone in front of him. 

 

“This is like the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” Stiles mumbled, dragging a hand down his face. 

 

“You did this. Just like the last time.” Peter said, continuing to watch as he cut, letting the red blood spill from the skin. The man had stopped screaming hours ago, passed out from the blood loss. 

 

Stiles stood up, “No. Yo-you did this. You’re psychotic.” He began to pace, walking on the wooden floor where the blood hadn’t reached quite yet. He stopped suddenly, face going red, his fists clenched at his sides, “ _ I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”  _ Peter stood up from his crouch, walking to Stiles. He led the younger man’s head to his neck as he continued to spout his hatred. That was what Peter loved about him. He was so  _ passionate.  _ Even about the things he didn’t mean. 

 

“You’re mine Stiles, and I will murder everything in my path that tries to say otherwise. Everything beautiful will be destroyed. Except For you. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on.” Stiles removed his head, sniffling. 

 

Stiles might not be okay with it now, but he would be. Eventually he would go out of his way, to get this feeling. The euphoria. It was practically orgasmic. 

 

Peter cradled his head in his hand, leaving a streak of red as he brought him in to place a chaste kiss on the beautiful boy’s lips. He released him, and stepped back. He hadn’t forgotten about the barely breathing man behind him. 

 

He had a job to finish, he thought gleefully. 

 

  * . •. •. 



 

“You’re just a manipulative little son of a bitch.” Stiles seethed. He’d been ecstatic when Peter had asked him to go clubbing. It wasn’t often that Peter wanted to go out. “I can’t even trust you anymore.”

 

Peter smirked, “Darling, you don’t even  _ know.  _ Besides, we both know you’re the one who can’t be trusted to keep his legs closed.” He finished tying the blonde woman up against the wooden post, her head lolling forward. “Apart from the fact that you’re going to enjoy watching my little show, you’re also going to get a little retaliation.”

 

“Retaliation from what Peter? I didn’t even sleep with either of these two.” Stiles looked back and forth between the blonde woman and the dark man. He had never even seen these two before tonight.

 

Peter wagged a finger over his shoulder, checking the knot with his other hand, “No. But he found it prudent to call you a slut.” Peter stood up, deeming the knot tight enough, and walked over to Stiles, pecking him chastely on the lips and grinning, “No one gets to call you a slut but me.” 

 

Stiles looked at the unconscious man, his eyebrows furrowing, “I didn’t even talk to him.”

 

“I know, baby.” 

 

Stiles felt something akin to rage building up. The angel on his shoulder said don’t give into it, but the Devil said give into it. He knew how easy it would be to give into it. Just let the anger wash over him, and say “Fuck it, kill them.” 

 

Peter must have seen the hesitation on his face, because he was suddenly pressed against his back, reminding Stiles of how perfectly they fit together. “You’re not  _ a _ slut, Stiles, you’re  _ my  _ slut. My baby girl. They don’t get to just disrespect you like that.” Something cold was pressed into Stiles hand. 

 

A knife. 

 

“Prove it to them. Prove that they don’t get to talk shit about you behind your back.” Peter whispered in his ear, his warm breath hitting his neck, making the younger man shiver.

 

The woman began to wake up, her confusion disappearing quickly, replaced by fear. It was only when she began to scream that Stiles moved forward. He knew what he had to do. They couldn’t take the word ‘slut’, and just attach it to him.  

 

He moved to the man first, after all, Stiles wasn’t sure if he was ready to take on a conscious six foot giant. Instead, he would do him first while he was unconscious, and the woman while she was conscious. Stiles felt himself get hard when she started screaming. Blood-curdling screams. 

 

She didn’t stop screaming until Stiles finished with the now cold man. Her head was tilted forward, hair partially covering her face. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think she was posing for a fashion magazine. 

 

Nobody could save her now. Nor could Peter and Stiles be saved. They had gone too far to turn back now. They’d never be the same  _ Stiles and Peter _ as before. 

 

That night, as Peter fucked Stiles six way to Sunday, they made each other a promise. They would both continue to love each other and kill for anyone would disrespected them. They would never be separated, not unless they were caught, and neither planned to be caught. 

 

  * . •. •. 



 

“Slowly exit the vehicle and put your hands up where we can see them!” 

 

“Fuck.” Peter cursed, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. 

 

Stiles turned in his seat, seeing the red and blue lights flashing. Fear raced through him. “Start the car.” Stiles urged, unwilling to get out. Suddenly there were guns in the windows, effectively trapping them as one fired the gun at the left side tires. “Peter. Peter, I’m scared.”

 

Peter glanced at his lover, grabbing his head and kissing him. It was over too quickly as the cops opened their doors and pulled them out. “I love you, babygirl.” He said, grinning maniacally. 

 

The cop shoved Peter to his knees as he struggled, his face hitting their car roughly. “Don’t hurt him.” Stiles begged. 

 

“Trust me, that’s the least of his problems. Not after you two murdered that little girl.” Stiles shook his head, denying it. “You have the right to remain silent, everything you say can and will be used against you.” Stiles tuned him out, panicking as he saw another cop car racing down the road. Stiles was shoved into one and Peter into the other. 

 

Stiles began to silently cry when he was no longer able to see Peter. He wasn’t strong without Peter. He’d never been strong until after he met Peter. 

 

  * . •. •. 



 

“Not guilty by reason of mental insanity, Your Honor.” 

 

The DA sputtered, “Your Honor, that is ridiculous.” 

 

“My client has been in and out of foster homes since he was eight. Four of them resulted in brutal beatings, scarring him for life. He did not receive treatment to find healthy coping habits. When he saw that man beating that little girl, he was unable to control himself. He is not guilty by reason of temporary mental insanity.” 

 

The judge hummed, “It’s a longshot, but I’ll allow it Tread carefully, Mr. Thime.” Stiles’ lawyer nodded grimly. 

 

It would be a longshot.

 

  * . •. •. 



 

The judge slammed his gavel down, “The jury finds the defendant not guilty by reason of mental insanity. They are to remain at St.Martin’s Mental Health Facility, until he is deemed competent.”

 

“Objection Your Honor, the defendant was arrested with someone else and they were also sent to St. Martin’s.” 

 

The judge raised an eyebrow, “I understand you’re new, Miss. Allif, but the case is over, you’re no longer to object. He is to remain at St.Martins, until deemed competent.” He smacked his gavel again and left the room in a flurry of robe. 

 

  * . •. •. 



 

“It could have been worse.” Stiles said, voice flat. He hadn’t seen Peter in six months, despite being in the same building.

 

Peter angrily snorted, “Yea, because this is just  _ great.”  _

 

“Don’t be an ass.” Stiles snapped angrily. “We could have been arrested for all those others. Instead it was just for protecting that little girl.”

 

Peter scoffed, standing up from the white bench, knees popping. “Yea, whatever.”

 

He walked away, not bothering to admire the flowers on the way out. 

 

Stiles sighed, tears prickling the corner of his eyes, making the red roses blurry. “I should have never met Peter.” His rubbed his hand across his face as he let out a sob, “I tried so hard to stay away, but he was too clever.” He choked on another cry, “Sever the ties and so dies the rose, But when a rose dies, the rose dies forever. Riding on the feather of a raven. Floating to the perch of a tombstone, engraving: ‘Nobody Could Save Him.’” He quoted, shaking as he took a breath in, exhaling loudly. 

 

Stiles sat there for a while, quietly crying to himself, letting all the guilt and regret washing over him. 

 

  * . •. •. 



 

Stiles didn’t see Peter for another few weeks. He’d been busy with his therapy, finally getting to the root of his problems and finding a medication that doesn’t make him feel numb, while also “rewiring”, as Dr. Martin had put it, his brain. He no longer felt the urges to kill. No longer had moments of nothing but rage and the desire to  _ hurt. _ He didn’t exactly admit to having killed seven people, but he skirted around it. Feeling relieved as he did so, in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He found talking released all of his pent up emotions, and rage, allowing him to breathe easy than he had been able to in a long time. 

 

“Peter.” Stiles said, scuffing his hospital assigned white-shoes. He still thought it was odd to see himself wearing shoes without laces in them. Peter nodded before he continued walking along the path, stopping at a petite brunette sitting on another of the white benches. Stiles felt his chest clench. 

 

  * . •. •. 



 

“I don’t understand why it upset me as much as it did. I mean, I’ve seen him twice in the last what? Eight months?” 

 

Dr. Martin tapped her pencil, “Maybe you still have some ill-advised feeling against him? Afterall, you said yourself that he was the only one to ever tell you he loves you. Maybe you feel like you  _ have  _ to care about him. In a healthy relationship, you don’t second guess your feelings, you just know. Who knows, maybe in the future you two will end up together, but I think that right now, you just need to focus on yourself, and your mental health. You aren’t going to be here forever Stiles.” 

 

Stiles pursed his lips,  _ it made sense. Peter was the only one to ever show him affection. The only one to go out of his way to be with Stiles.  _

 

  * . •. •. 



 

Stiles was let out two months later, almost a year after he entered. He still had weekly therapy appointments that he was required to attend, but for now, he was able to live on his own, something he had never done before.

 

He didn’t think of Peter very often, but when he did, he wasn’t sad about them memories. It was actually as if someone else had done all of that. Sometimes, he wishes he were still with him, but others, he knew it was for the better. 

 

  * . •. •. 



 

Stiles was lonely. He had tried to make friends, invited the barista out to eat. Joined a book club. No one really talked to him, not in the two months he’d been out. It was as if they knew what he had done. What he was capable of. They didn’t accept him, not like Peter had. 

 

He saw Peter a week after he stopped trying, unable to continue trying. Not when he was so scared that rejection would make him snap. He was sipping on a coffee, reading the paper. Stiles froze as they made eye contact. He shook his head, and averted his eyes, walking to the counter. 

 

He sat down in his usual spot, pulling his book out of shoulder bag. He sipped his cappuccino as he read, freezing when someone slid into the booth across from him. 

 

Peter. 

 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

 

“Why not? There’s no law or rule that says we can’t be together again.” He could hear the smirk in the older man’s voice. 

“Peter, this is serious.” Stiles murmured, still unable to look him in the eyes. 

 

“But is it really so serious? Give me a second chance, and we’ll learn from the experience.” Stiles didn’t say anything. “Stiles,” Peter sighed, “I’ve tried to forget about you. I’ve prayed to God that I’ll forget your name. But I can’t. You’re it for me. Maybe not like I used to think, but I still love you.” His voice cracked.

 

Stiles looked up, “You say you’re trying and you’re crying. Kind of. You’re  _ Peter crying.”  _ They both dryly chuckled, neither actually amused, “But I hate to say it. This is something I’m not buying.” Stiles couldn’t go back to being with Peter, not after he had come so far. He had gotten lost in Peter’s little game, he wasn’t willing to risk it again. “You had your chance and you blew it.” Stiles slid out of the booth, knowing he wouldn’t be able to tell Peter no again.

 

  * . •. •. 



 

Stiles doesn’t see Peter until five months later, ironically on Peter’s thirty-seventh birthday. He’s walking back from work, looking forward to curling up in his warm bed with a book and a cup of hot chocolate. He hated winter. 

 

Peter sees him first, and he turns abruptly around when Stiles sees him. “Peter! Wait!” 

 

Peter froze before he quickened his pace. Stiles ran clumsily after hijm, barely catching him, but when he does, he has to gasp for breath before he could talk. Man, was he out of breath. 

 

“What?” Peter spit harshly. 

 

“I made a mistake.” Peter was silent, standing in front of Stiles with nothing to say. “I blew it, and I knew it as soon as I walked out of that coffee shop.” He said, voice wobbling. “I didn’t mean what I said. Those-those words weren’t true. And if you aren’t willing to take me back, ju-just don’t forget me?” 

 

“Do you remember when you asked if you were worth dying for?” Peter asked. 

 

Stiles jerked in surprise, “What? Yea, yea I remember that.” It had been a few months after they had gotten together. Peter had told him, ‘You’re the only one who was willing to look past Peter’s cold heart.’

 

“You told me even the coldest hearts have a beat. You made me realize that even though I was fucked up, and God, was I messed up.” 

 

Stiles shrugged, “And yours is nothing someone would want to keep.” He finished quoting. “Except you were wrong, Peter. I want you, all of you. I want your snarky remarks, the way you need coffee as soon as you woke up, everything. I just want everything.”

Peter looked over Stiles shoulder as he continued to talk, “That day in the garden, after we were caught, I had planned to apologize. For everything. And when I walked away, I thought that it was too late to fix what was lost.” He focused his eyes on Stiles’, “My heart still beats for you, Stiles. Always for you. I wouldn’t take you back, if it weren’t for the fact that you are the  _ only  _ one for me. You taught me something that is irreplaceable. I love you, and I always will.”

 

Stiles flung his arms around Peter’s neck, groaning when the older man wrapped his arms around his waist, lifting him up as Stiles wrapped his legs around his lover. 

 

They would be together for as long as they could. Nothing had really changed from the first promise they made each other, except this time, there was no ‘unless they were caught.’ It was them, together, forever. 

 

  * . •. •. 



 

Peter sometimes still had his moments of rage, but Stiles was always able to talk him out of it. Help him see the reason why he shouldn’t do it. The reason was always the same. 

 

“If we go home right now, I’ll let you fuck me and call me your dirty slut.” 

 

It was always a whisper of a promise, something that Peter would have been able to do regardless, but it was just the fact that it was Stiles saying it. It was a reminder of something he could lose. 

 

Something he wasn’t willing to lose. 

 

  * . •. •. 



 

“Fuck.” Stiles moaned. 

 

“So tight. Perfect, you’re perfect.” Peter groaned, watching as Stiles’ass bounced with his thrusts, the smacking of skin filling the room. He smacked one, watching as it turned red. “Fuck, all mine. Aren’t you baby? My dirty little slut.”

 

“Yours. Just yours. Your slut.” Stiles whined, gasping as Peter’s legnth slid past his prostate. 

 

“Yea? What are you?” He asked, smacking him again, “Say it.”

 

“Daddy’s slut. I’m daddy’s slut.”

 

“Fuck yea, you are.” Peter staightened his arms, watching where he slid into Stiles, joing them together. He moaned, thrusts becoming erratic as he felt Stiles hole clench deliciously around him. “Don’t come until I tell you.” He warned, “Daddy won’t be happy, and you remember the last time you made daddy unhappy, don’t you slut?” Stiles whined as the memory came forward, his ass burning at the thought of it. Peter had teased him for hours, a dark blue cockring encasing him, before he fucked Stiles’ mouth, cumming on his face. He hadn’t let Stiles cum for a week. 

 

Peter hit Stiles prostate again, watching as he shook in the effort to not cum, “Daddy, daddy, daddy. Can I please cum? I’m so close. I- I can’t.”

 

“Yes, you can. Wait for daddy.” Peter increased his thrusts, Stiles jerking up the bed beneath him, “Cum with daddy, babygirl.”

 

Stiles inched his hand beneath him, moaning when Peter slapped his ass, “You will come form my cock and my cock only, whore.” Peter said harshly. He slapped Stiles’ ass one more time, before groaning as Stiles clenched around him. He continued thrusting as he came, “Cum, slut.”

 

Stiles came, screaming Peter’s name. Peter pulled out, watching as Stiles clenched around nothing, cum leaking out of his abused hole. He pushed his cum back in with two fingers, Stiles moaning from sensitivity. 

 

“So beautiful. You’re so beautiful baby. You did so well.” Peter whispered, pulling the younger man against him, his head tucked into his chest. He trailed his fingers up and down Stiles’ back,  watching as he fell asleep. He pulled away after the younger man’s breathing had even out, grabbing a rag and cleaning Stiles up before he cleaned himself up. He tossed the wet rag, crawling back into bed, and falling asleep shortly afterwards, next to the man he loved with all of his cold heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn't mentioned, but in my head, Peter is messed up because he was molested as a kid. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXBnUTTVqug  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4mWLiO0wo8


End file.
